The Air Moves Again: Living With the Windows Open
April 15, 2026
Living in a mid-century farmhouse means lots of natural light streaming in the windows found on every side of the house. It’s a design made for drawing cross-breezes in the days before air conditioning. Ventilation wasn’t a luxury; it was how to survive a hot, muggy Missouri summer.
And so, every spring, almost without conscious thought, I start opening the windows.
It’s not a dramatic decision. There’s no date on the calendar that tells me it’s time. It’s more of a feeling. What had been cozy and warm begins to seem closed, settled, and slightly stale.
There’s a subtle shift in the air, a slightly warmer ray of sun. Robins in the yard and bird-song in the breeze.
Then comes THE day, the one where the temperature is just right, and the air outside feels like something I’ve been missing without realizing it.
I find myself walking from room to room, lifting latches, pushing the panes aside, inviting the outside in.
First stop — front door. Lower the glass covering the screen. Then off to the west window, then the dining room.
The house doesn’t transform all at once, and at first, nothing much happens. The curtains shift slightly, like they’re restless and rediscovering their ability to move freely.
But give it a few minutes more and a faint breeze flows from the living room through the kitchen. Air moves. Stillness breaks. Something that felt dead shows signs of new life.
Opening Is Only the Beginning
This Lenten season we’ve spent time noticing what accumulated, clearing what we could and sitting with what remained.
And then…EASTER!
Full of life and breath and movement, reminding me that, even after stillness, life continues.
Today, standing in a house with windows open on every side, I realize opening the windows is only the first step.
There’s a line in from the gospel of John that’s been in the back of my mind as I’ve opened windows this week: “The wind blows where it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it’s going (3:8).
Yes, I opened the windows, but the fresh air doesn’t ask permission to enter or sit politely in the room! The air is the air. It moves as it moves. Coming from unexpected directions, it shifts things we have neatly in place.
For people like me who prefer a little more predictability, that can sometimes feel…unsettling. Wouldn’t it be easier to close everything back up, turn on the air conditioning, and return to the controlled, predictable stillness.
Because open windows bring sounds and scents and unpredictability. A crash as the curtains catch a picture frame and knock it to the floor. The smell of a lilac on the breeze. There’s the irregular clank of the wreath bouncing against the front door.
When I leave the windows open something begins to change, and the house starts to feel different because something new is moving through it.
And isn’t that what the Easter season invites us into?
Not a sudden transformation where everything is fixed and flawless, but a quieter shift of breath returning and movement where before there was only stillness.
Life continuing on.
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: Where in life do you to sense something opening — even just a little?
An Invitation: This week, resist the urge to close it too quickly.
Let the air move and the breeze blow where it pleases.
Even if it feels unfamiliar.
Even if it stirs things up a little.
Even if it’s not entirely comfortable yet.
You don’t have to overhaul everything — just open a window and see what happens.
With you in the open air,
